The Nobleman
by simison
Summary: Highever's power as a Ferelden territory is rivaled only by Denerim, Ferelden's capital. Under the chivalrous Couslands, Highever continues to enjoy prosperity, though not always peace. Now with the Darkspawn gathering in the South, the youngest son of Teyrn Cousland prepares to march to war.
1. Ch 1: Father

_**The Nobleman**_

**Ch.1: Father**

Dáibhádh Cousland frowned at the young elf maiden in front of him. The servant kept her brown eyes averted toward the floor while she waited for his reply, her long, sable hair trying to engulf her face. Cousland's own golden locks attempted to mirror hers, but his hair was too short. Briefly, the noble glanced in the direction of the main hall, his green eyes staring through the stone walls of his bedroom as though he could see through them. _What could it be? _He brought his attention back to where he was and decided his armor training was over. He took a seat on his bed before gesturing for the room's third occupant to come forward. "Squire, help me out of this," he commanded, rapping his knuckles against the steel chestplate latched around his torso, an odd addition considering he wore a full suit of heavy leather armor beneath it. A young lad of about ten years of age hurried over and helped his superior unbuckle the metal armor. Cousland turned his eyes back on the messenger. "Did my father tell you why he sent for me?"

The servant shook her head, sending a rogue strand of black hair across her pale face. "No, my lord," she replied, eyes still cast downward.

Cousland sighed before he tackled this latest puzzle, his fingers rubbing his chin where his non-existent facial hair would be. _What would Father want to see me about? It can't be because of the armor. Did something happen to my men? Did Bryan show up to inspection with only half his armor again? I swear, if he keeps this up, I'll have to have him whipped. _The squire undid the last strap and the heavy metal slid off the young lord. Dáibhádh bit back a sigh of relief as he told the squire, "Take it back to the armory. Once you've finished, return here and make sure that my second armor is free of mark or damage."

The squire bowed before running out to fulfill his new task, the chestplate not slowing him down in the slightest. Once the door was closed behind him, the servant lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. "That's the third time you've told him to do that," she casually remarked, the air of deference sliding off of her.

"Never hurts to check again. After all, this will be my first march," he said with an indifferent shrug. He shifted on his bed to look over the array of items currently covering the red covers.

He reached over and grabbed his broadsword and dagger next to a stack of parchment and several bottles of ink. His eyes glanced over the ever-present black gloves on his hands, causing him to momentarily pause before pushing back a pang of vexation. "Now," he began in mock annoyance. "Kallian Tabris, please tell me that you're ready to go. Remember, if you don't come with us, you'll be late to your cousin's wedding."

Kallian grinned at him. "I daresay, Lord Cousland, that even if I wasn't packed, I could still run out now and be finished in less than five minutes, while you would be checking your equipment for the fifth time. How was the heavy armor?"

Dáibhádh reached up with one hand to massage his shoulder, taking a moment to glare at his long and lanky arms. "Still not strong enough to use it in battle. I can run in it, fight with it. But I'd only last for half an hour before exhaustion set in. I should've had double portions of red meat as Fergus suggested."

"You prefer your meat well-cooked," she reminded him matter-of-factly, her playful smile widening, "And with all that muscle and armor, how would my Lord Cousland evade all those blows?"

Dáibhádh scoffed, "What kind of leader focuses on dodging his attackers? How are my men supposed to be inspired by their skinny commander prancing around the battlefield like an Orlesian? Real men expect their commander to go out in full armor and simply shrug off his foes as he cuts through them. And don't get me started on the skirt!" he argued as he pointed at the aforementioned piece of armor.

Kallian rolled her eyes as she heard the complaint for the sixth time. It still tickled her every time to hear him grumble about it. "It's called a kilt, Lord Cousland. And I know many soldiers would be more impressed if their commander came out of the battlefield untouched. And I have no doubt your mother would prefer to see that as well."

The blond noble stabbed an accusing finger toward her as he grimaced. "Don't bring Mother into this. That's not fair and you know it," he sighed as he remembered what brought her to his room in the first place. "Did Father really say nothing about this summons' purpose?"

The servant shook her head again. "None, my lord. Only that he wants to see you quickly."

"I better be on my way, then," Dáibhádh relented as he stood off of his bed. "If you are truly prepared for travel, then make sure that my personal effects are prepared. Especially if there is enough parchment and ink among my belongings. If this is truly a Blight we face, then it would do well for someone to record the events for posterity's sake," he ordered before he left the bedroom.

"Still ever the scholar even as he dreams himself a warrior," Kallian mused aloud before she focused on the travel bags lined against the bed's pillows.

Dáibhádh continued to ponder his upcoming meeting, struggling to figure out the reasons behind it. It was almost time for him, Fergus, and his father to leave. _Maybe he wants to reassure me that all is well? Maker knows that Mother has been slipping in dark tales of doom and gloom these last few days, trying to make me nervous, as if I didn't have enough on my mind. Wait... could it be..._ He shook his head. _No, it's my duty to go and support Father and Fergus with the rest of the Cousland army. Mother knows this...she knows this. _

The noble left his unpleasant train of thoughts as he entered the main hall from a side entrance. Soldiers brought life to the large stone chamber as some finished their last meal, either idling as they relished in every last bite of a good meal or tossing it down their throats in the case of several unprepared soldiers. Others hurried to fulfill last minute orders, scrambling to secure last buckles or give their swords one last taste of a whetstone. Dáibhádh quickly spotted his father in his golden tunic at the head of the hall, speaking with a familiar figure. _Arl Howe. _The younger Cousland paused as he scanned the room. He chided himself for the unwarranted caution. _As if Lord Howe would bring Delilah to Highever on a march. _Dáibhádh wasn't sure what he had said to her, but their last meeting had been distinctly cold. And between these mysterious summons and his apprehensions about his first mustering, he wasn't in the mood to deal with Howe's daughter. His Father and the Arl were talking of Howe's delayed men. Apparently, they weren't here yet, which was odd since they were due to arrive several hours ago. Highever and Amaranthine were supposed to make for Ostagar tonight.

"At least the smell will be the same," Dáibhádh heard his father say with a chuckle as Dáibhádh strided up to the older gentlemen, both of whom had grey hair. But while Howe's face was clean-shaven, the Teyrn sported a light moustache and beard, giving him an older look. Bryce Cousland caught sight of his son out of the corner of his eye just as Dáibhádh joined them. "I'm sorry, pup, I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my son?" he reminded his old friend as he looked back at him with green eyes.

Howe's lips twisted into a smile beneath that large nose of his. "I see he's grown up into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again," he greeted in that unmistakable nasally voice.

"And you, Arl Howe," Dáibhádh politely replied, more eager to hear what his father would say. Now, if only Howe understood this.

"My daughter, Delilah, asked after you," the Arl told him encouragingly. "Perhaps I should bring her with me next time."

Dáibhádh mentally winced. "Delilah is quite a bit younger than I am," he tactfully reminded his father's best friend. _Not to mention much too cold for me. Honestly, would it be so hard to tell me what I did to upset her? Did I do anything to upset her? I could've sworn I've acted nothing less than a gentleman with her. _

Howe either missed or ignored Dáibhádh's reluctance and went on. "As you get older, those years make less difference. A lesson often hard won," the Arl advised with a hint of humor.

"I doubt he'll be receptive, Howe," Bryce interceded with a knowing smile. "My fierce boy has his own mind these days, Maker bless his heart."

Arl Howe laughed at that. "A temperament to match his fighting skill. Well done, your Lordship."

_Please don't tell me he's set on matching me with Delilah, _Dáibhádh hoped against as he watched the Arl.

"At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason," Bryce explained. Instantly, Dáibhádh's attention locked onto his father. "While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

Dáibhádh kept his face blank, as duty required. It would be unseemly to act in any manner that might embarrass himself and his father in front of the Arl and the rest of their men. Inside, only one thought consumed him. _WHAT?! _Dáibhádh counted to ten before he trusted himself to speak. "Is that really necessary, Father?"

"This is no needless task," Bryce told his son with a mask of seriousness. "I ask you to take a great responsibility. Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

The younger Cousland knew the saying. _And he and I both know that Mother is more than able to handle this task. Even if difficulties did arise, Seneschal Bradley is more than able to aid Mother. Which means, this lecture is not for my benefit. Mother did interfere! The first thing I'm going to do after Father is finished is find her, _he swore to himself.

"There's also someone you must meet," Bryce finished before turning to a nearby guard. "Please...show Duncan in."

_Duncan? Why does that name sound familiar? _The second Cousland son watched the guard walk away with sudden interest. When the guard returned, he was accompanied by a Rivaini. A dark-skinned man with brown eyes that stood at Dáibhádh's height. The man's night-colored hair was arranged in a small ponytail, with a beard and moustache much fuller than the Teyrn's. The Rivani walked with confidence clinging to his steps, no doubt aided by the mail armor encasing him along with the sword and short sword strapped to his back. As befitting protocol, the Rivaini greeted the ranking member first. "It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland."

While Dáibhádh puzzled over the man's identity, Arl Howe cried out in a mix of surprise and embarrassment, "Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

All thoughts of his recent usurpation and his mother were swept from Dáibhádh's mind as he regarded Duncan with open awe. _Of course! How could I forget?! Duncan! As in the Ferelden Commander of the Grey! And he's standing right in front of me!_

Unlike his son or his closest friend, Bryce wasn't overwhelmed by Duncan's appearance. The Highever ruler shot a quizzical look at Amaranthine's Arl. "Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?"

Howe quickly recovered as he addressed his old friend. "Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am... at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true," Bryce agreed before shifting his gaze onto Dáibhádh. "Pup, I'm sure you are well aware of the Grey Wardens?"

Confusion settled over Dáibhádh's face as he scrutinized his father. _Has he forgotten who I am? All the tales I've read, the histories I've studied, the arguments we've had? _Comprehension visited the younger Cousland a moment later. _Ah, it is for Duncan's benefit. _"Of course, Father. They are the Order who has brought an end to a Blight, not once, or twice, but four times."

Bryce nodded favorably. "Indeed. Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the South. I believe he's got his eyes on Ser Gilmore."

_Lucky knight, _Dáibhádh grumbled silently to himself.

Speaking in that quiet yet firm tone of his, Duncan added, "If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your son is also an excellent candidate."

Dáibhádh's head snapped toward the Warden-Commander so hard that his father looked almost surprised there wasn't a pop. His son ignored all discomfort as he absorbed Duncan's words. _Me! He actually thinks I'm worthy! _

Dáibhádh saw the frown crossing his father's features and knew a protest was well on its way. "Honor though that might be, this is one of my sons we're talking about."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't join them?" Dáibhádh prompted, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "I wouldn't be the first Cousland to join the Wardens." As his father's face darkened, Dáibhádh knew he went too far. _Even after all these years,_ _my uncle is still a sore topic. What happened between him and Father anyway? _

Arl Howe, with a knowing look, threw out, "You did just finish saying that Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend."

The Teyrn directed his attention at the Arl. "I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle," he frowned before he glanced at Duncan. "Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

"Have no fear," Duncan quickly reassured Bryce. "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

Satisfied that his son would **not **be joining the Wardens, Bryce's expression relaxed as he turned back to his child. "Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

_I'm sure Duncan's arrival is a boon to Mother's cause,_ Dáibhádh noted sourly. _Using the Ferelden Warden-Commander to convince me to abandon any attempt to go South and fight the Darkspawn. _"Of course," he replied reluctantly.

"In the meantime," Bryce continued, "Find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

"Where is Fergus?" _No doubt he won't tell me where Mother is._

"Upstairs in his chambers, no doubt, spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson," Bryce answered wistfully, a small, weary smile playing upon his lips. "Be a good lad and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

* * *

**A/N: I've found an artist who's willing to do commissions for the Recruit cast. To see the first trial image, visit my Author's profile.**


	2. Ch 2: Old Friends

**Ch.2: Old Friends**

The younger Cousland accepted his father's command with an inward grimace._ Meaning that he'll attempt to convince me that staying behind is really in Highever's best interest. Never mind that my familial duty is to join Fergus and him going South. I must find Mother._ He automatically rejected asking his father for her location. He'd never tell. Dáibhádh faced Arl Howe. _Perhaps he saw her when he came in? Or maybe Father told him where she is._ "Excuse me, Howe?"

"Yes?" returned the nasal reply.

Dáibhádh nearly went straight to the matter when he remembered his Father was right there and might have warned Howe to keep silent on the matter. So, Dáibhádh decided to ask something else to try to catch the Arl off-guard. "I trust the delay with your men is nothing serious?"

"Poor weather, I believe," Howe explained with an air of unconcern. "Their progress has been slow, but it's nothing you need worry about."

Dáibhádh nearly took the explanation at face value when he remembered what the Arl told his Father earlier. "You told my father the delay was your fault," he reminded Howe, a little curious at the discrepancy.

Howe took it in stride. "In a manner of speaking. If I had reinforced our border levies earlier, my troops could have left before the rains," he said with a chuckle. "I confess, my confidence in your father allowed me some complacency. I guess that makes it as much his fault."

Dáibhádh did not agree. _You're the commander, it's your job to be ready._ A chastisement that would've served no one's purpose if spoken out loud. So, Dáibhádh moved onto his next question. "How long have you and Father been friends?"

"We fought together under King Maric, when he drove the Orlesians out of Ferelden. Heady times," Howe said solemnly, bitterness and perhaps anger infecting his voice. "The years since have not held the same promise. It's not something a youth would understand." Howe's smile reappeared. "It will be good to ride beside your father again."

The next question came on its own. "You knew King Maric?"

"Your father hasn't spoken of our time with him?" Howe asked in open surprise. "That man took care of his friends. As they say, he was large as life and twice as tall!" Howe interrupted himself with a small peal of laughter. The laughter died away with his good spirits for a moment. "It's too bad Cailan isn't half that."

The Arl's disparagement of Ferelden's king caught Dáibhádh by surprise and caused a twinge of irritation._ I don't understand. I have only met King Maric a few times, but Cailan seems like a good sort, minus his...indiscretions; poor Anora_, he thought to himself. _It has been a few years since I've seen Cailan, has something happened in the meantime?_ "You don't think much of King Cailan?"

"I think of him as much as he thinks at all," Howe quipped, the malicious intent plain for all to hear.

Bryce finally interjected, his tone also obvious in its displeasure. "That's enough, Howe. You speak of our king."

"The boy did ask, your Lordship, as per the latitude allow." Howe's voice dropped to an angry whisper as he crossed his arms in front of him. "I merely offered my opinion."

Dáibhádh was having difficulty in understanding why this man was his Father's friend._ Does he always complain this much? Or is he just this... lax in front of my Father and other old friends?_ With much apprehension, Dáibhádh asked his next question. "Your daughter is... interested in me?"

Howe's dark mood vanished again as he crafted an answer. "The topic has come up from time to time. The young and their infatuations."

_Infatuation_? "I got the impression Delilah didn't like me," Dáibhádh confessed.

Howe brushed it off with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure that was years ago. People change. To be honest, I have no expectations. And your father seems determined to let you find your own way. If something did happen... well, we'd address it as befits a family of our stature."

_People change? Not usually without reason though. I haven't had the chance to make up for whatever happened with Delilah...or if I even did do anything to earn this enmity._"We'll see," Dáibhádh answered diplomatically.

"I'm sure. There will be much to discuss once I return."

"Have you seen my Mother?" the younger man asked as casually as he could.

"I'm afraid not. I came straight here after my arrival," Howe disclosed apologetically.

_Defeated once more_. Dáibhádh sighed before he stepped back from the Arl, dropping a polite farewell. "Then I just want to wish you well, Arl Howe."

The warm wish seemed to ambush the Arl. "I...thank you. That is...quite unnecessary," he replied, still unsure, and for some reason he couldn't look Dáibhádh directly in the eye.

_How strange._ Dáibhádh wondered how this man became such good friends with his father. A mystery for another time. He thought about asking Duncan, but the Warden was speaking to his father. And the sideways glance that Bryce sent to his son let him know that he knew Dáibhádh's goal. Dáibhádh gave up and walked toward the side door, the same door he entered, his eyes briefly glancing over the painting of his mother. The painting sat in the spot reserved for the current Lady of Highever._ I wonder when they'll paint Orianna._ He stepped out of the hall. Sunlight and the open air greeted him as he stepped onto the stone pathway. Unlike a few keeps, Highever's inner castle was open to the sky, minus the main hall and the various rooms built into the thick walls. The pathway branched off to his left and right. _Now where is she? Hmmm._ He glanced down the left pathway._ Perhaps she's in the chapel, praying for protection for father and Fergus._

A guard snapped to attention as Dáibhádh passed. The path split again into a 'T', the left path leading to the castle's entrance. His eyes flickered to a corner of the wall as he walked toward the chapel's door. The outer layer of the stone wall had crumbled away._ Another scar of the Orlesian occupation. When Fergus is the Teyrn and I am his Seneschal, I'll need to make a list of what else we need to repair. All the major work is done, but it'll be to our benefit if we restore the castle to its complete, former glory._

He stepped through the door and found several guards kneeling behind a prostrated priestess. _No sign of her. Perhaps Mother Mallol has seen her._ As he walked up to the clergywoman, the woman prayed aloud, "Maker prepare a place for us. Redeem our world from sin. Forgive our transgressions."

"Maker, forgive us all," one of the guards chimed.

The dark-haired woman noticed him after a moment. She smiled as she rose to greet him. "Have you come to pray for your brother and father? I'd be happy to ask for the Maker's blessings with you," she serenely offered.

_So, she already knows. How does she seem to know everything that happens in this castle before anyone else does?_ Dáibhádh put that mystery away for later as well before he returned the smile. "I would appreciate that, Mother Mallol."

"Please, child, call me 'Mallol'," she insisted. "I've known you since you were a wee babe, after all." She paused as she bowed her head and clasped her hands. "Creator of the Sky, the Land, and the Sea, hear your people in our time of need."

"Maker watch over us," Dáibhádh intoned as he bowed his head.

"Let no man have cause to fear the shadows. Let their souls be lifted upon your return. So let it be."

"Maker, forgive us all," he chanted.

"There now," she said as the blessing finished. "I'll be keeping a vigil tonight. You're more than welcome to come. There are many more who must receive the Maker's blessings before they leave. If you would excuse me?"

Dáibhádh didn't want to keep her away from the others, but he wanted to know. "Mallol, have you seen my mother?"

The pink-robed priestess nodded. "Aye, child. She is with company, though I didn't get a chance to learn their names. They were headed deeper into the keep when I last saw."

He nodded to her again. "Thank you, Mallol."

She smiled at him. "It is the least I could do." Her smile weakened as she tried to reassure him. "If the worst comes to pass, child, take comfort in knowing that the Maker's will takes many forms. We shall talk once the soldiers have departed."

_Now if only the Maker's will would be more obvious at times_, Dáibhádh silently wished before he said, "Until then, Mallol, good day." He walked out of the chapel and headed back in the direction he came from._ At least I'll be closer to my room once I've confronted Mother._

He just passed by the path leading to the armory when a young, red-haired man came upon him. "There you are. Your mother told me the Teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Hello to you, too, Ser Gilmore," Dáibhádh greeted the armored man as he wondered what brought the knight to his company.

The knight immediately became chastened, misreading Dáibhádh's intent. "Pardon my manners, my lord. It's simply that I've been looking all over the castle for you. I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave."

Dáibhádh chuckled as images of his faithful dog and his old nanny entered his mind. "Nan is just blowing off steam. She's always been like that."

The blue-eyed Gilmore smiled but persisted. "Your mother disagrees. She insists you collect the dog, and quickly. You know these mabari hounds. They listen only to their master; anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

_Ah, Garahel. You're only helping mother's cause now. She's just looking for any task to keep me away_. "He knows better than to hurt anyone," Dáibhádh reminded Gilmore before sighing. "But I guess I should go collect him." _You win this round, Mother, but you can't keep me away for forever._

"That would be wise before Nan tears down the walls." They both laughed at that. "You're quite lucky to have your own mabari war hound, you know. Smart enough not to talk, my father used to say. Of course, that means he's easily bored. Nan swears he confounds her just to amuse himself. At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

_Oho, mother even sent a guard to make sure the task was done. Clever_. "To the kitchen, then."

"Just follow the yelling. When Nan's unhappy, she makes sure everyone knows it."

Dáibhádh chuckled. "Age has yet to distill that powerful voice of hers."

Eager to accomplish this roadblock of a task, Dáibhádh quick-stepped toward the new destination, leaving Gilmore to have to pick up his feet to keep up. The kitchen was on the other side of the main hall, which was a separate building in the keep's center. They rounded the second corner, and it wasn't long before they heard Garahel's barking combined with Nan's hollering. "Quite the chorus," Dáibhádh dryly remarked as he and the knight took the first left. And the only left door led them into the kitchen. A huge fireplace marked the left side of the room, while the right side was marked by the door leading into the larder. Between the two points were tables, bookcases, barrels, and sacks filled with food, cooking utensils, ingredients, recipes, and bottles. Dáibhádh paused and took a quick whiff. _I smell steak_! he joyfully recognized._ That's right, for my last supper before the march, I asked Nan to cook my favorite meal...and now I'm stuck here. No, I musn't surrender yet!_

The cook herself, dressed in a dirty apron and her grey hair pulled in a tight bun, alternately glared and yelled at the larder door, flanked by two more elven servants. Garahel's barking came from within the larder. As Dáibhádh and Gilmore marched up to the Nan, they heard her order, "Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!"

The brunette servant trembled beneath Nan's sharp voice but protested. "But, mistress! It won't let us near!"

"If I can't get into that larder," Nan warned them with fire behind her eyes. "I'll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it!"

Both Dáibhádh and Gilmore winced at the threat. Gilmore stepped forward, "Err... calm down, good woman. We've come to help."

At the sound of Gilmore's voice, Nan whirled around with a bony finger aimed at them. "You! And you! Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!"

Were it not for the fact that Dáibhádh was well accustomed to Nan's hyperbole, he'd have take offense to that. "I'm sorry he's bothering you, Nan," he said, head lowered in penance.

Nan's barbed attitude dulled as she regarded her former charge. "Just get him gone! I've enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers!" She spun back around to address her subordinates. "You two! Stop standing there like idiots! Get out of the way!"

The two of them scampered away before Dáibhádh and Gilmore stepped into the larder. As they passed through the door, they found Garahel. The mabari war hound was almost the size of a small pony and covered in beige fur. Garahel sniffed along the floor as he tracked some unseen prey. The larder was a mess with barrels toppled over and sacks thrown onto their sides.

The maroon-and-silver armored knight sighed. "Look at that mess. How did he even get in here?"

Garahel broke off his hunt as he looked at his master, his three-inch tail waving happily. He barked in excited greeting. Dáibhádh opened his mouth to answer when he paused. _Wait, was that an actual greeting?_ "Are you trying to tell me something, boy?"

Garahel 'woofed!' before he spun around in a circle, affirming Dáibhádh's guess. Gilmore caught the intent of the gesture too. "He does seem like he's trying to tell you something. Wait, do you hear that?"

Cousland heard it too: a loud squeak followed by the sound of large paws scratching across stone. A second later, a pack of giant, black rats swarmed towards them. The lead rat made it a foot before Garahel pounced on it. Gilmore and Dáibhádh quickly drew their swords and counter-attacked, stabbing at the nimble little opponents. Despite their large size, the few rats that managed to get close enough to bite, couldn't pierce their thick boots. The rat pack died quickly, the last one retreating to a hole in the wall when the resident warhound jumped on it.

"Giant rats?" Gilmore declared rhetorically. "It's like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell. Your hound must have chased them in through their holes. Looks like he wasn't raiding the larder after all."

Garahel barked in agreement. Dáibhádh smiled down at him. "It certainly looks that way. Well done, Garahel."

"Those were rats from the Korcari Wilds," Ser Gilmore went on. "Best not to tell Nan. She's upset enough as it is."

_You don't know Nan_, Dáibhádh thought wryly. "And here I thought Korcari rats would be bigger, like the size of a man. Now, wouldn't that be unusual?"

Gilmore scoffed. "Any rat larger than the regular kind would be a rodent of unusual size. But seeing as you've got your marbari well in hand, I'll be on my way. I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the Arl's men."

_That's right. Gilmore is the only Highever knight staying behind,_ Dáibhádh remembered. "Then I won't keep you from your task."

"Good-bye, Lord Cousland," Gilmore said before he left.


	3. Ch 3: Mother

**Ch.3: Mother**

Garahel led the way out of the chaos-touched larder as he trotted with his head held high, tail wagging energetically. Outside the door, Nan glared at the beige dog as he entered the kitchen. "There he is, as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

Garahel whimpered under those withering bister eyes. Dáibhádh stepped forward. "Actually, he was defending your larder from rats. Big ones."

"W-what?" the elf woman squeaked from her kitchen station. "Rats? Not the large grey ones?"

"They'll rip you to shreds, they will!" the other servant exclaimed.

"See?" Nan barked as she scowled at the elves. "Now you've gone and scared the servants!" She aimed her glare at Dáibhádh. "I expect those filthy things are dead."

"My faithful warhound made sure it's safe," Dáibhádh declared as he patted Garahel on the head. The mabari barked happily, wiggling his head beneath his master's hand.

"Hmph. I bet that dog led those rats into there to begin with," Nan accused as she pointed a bony finger at the hound.

Garahel emitted a high-pitched whine as he curled his head to the side.

"Oh, don't even start with the sad eyes!" Nan warned him. "I'm immune to your so-called charms."

Garahel drooped his head as he continued to whine. The old woman sighed before she reached over and grabbed a few pieces of meat from a nearby table. She tossed them in front of the dog. "Here, then. Take these pork bits and don't say that Nan never gives you anything! ...bloody dog."

Garahel quickly cleaned the floor before he looked up at Nan adoringly, giving her a bark of thanks. Nan looked up at Dáibhádh, her bite rendered toothless. "Thank you, my lord. Now we can get back to work."

"Farewell, Nan," Dáibhádh returned with a grin before he led Garahel out of the kitchen, Nan's orders filling their ears until Dáibhádh closed the door behind them. Cousland paused as he knelt down next to Garahel. "Alright boy, we have a problem. Mother convinced Father to keep us here instead of letting us go fight darkspawn."

Garahel yelped.

"I know, boy. I nearly exploded when Father told me. But we're not going to let this stand, are we?"

The warhound arfed his position.

"Good boy, Garahel. We're going to go confront Mother right now and get her to change her mind. I need you to use your charm on her. Hold nothing back."

Garahel leaned forward and licked his master's face with gusto. Dáibhádh chuckled before he stood up. "Alright, alright, enough practice. Let's go!"

"Woof!" Now prepared, the pair traveled down the path, took the right, and circled the main hall. The keep's walls were built close to the buildings they guarded, meaning that any attacking force would have to charge through narrow paths, only three-men abreast. It also meant the layout was easy to memorize as long as you knew where the main hall was. Dáibhádh kept the main hall on his left until he reached the opposite side from where the keep's entrance was. Here the path diverged with the new branch going to their right and up a small hill, which led to the personal chambers for the Cousland clan and the guest rooms. Right away, Dáibhádh saw a group of four people standing at the path's midpoint, which widened in a circle with benches for outdoor conversations before it continued onward to the chambers. Dáibhádh winced when he saw his Mother as part of the group_. Damn. She's surrounded herself with guests. No doubt she'll use them to either distract me or make her escape. I should just go straight to the matter, even if it would be rude...I should..._

His mother, grey-haired she might be, was still an attractive woman who aged well despite being raised during the Occupation. Her violet chemise was combined with a pink blouse and worn with a bright red skirt, all of which reflected her inner self quite well: a vibrant and powerful personality. Dáibhádh's father often jested that his youngest son inherited her once fair hair, along with her stubbornness. And while Dáibhádh admitted he could be very willful, he felt like no one could match his mother's spirit. _Except for today. I will win today!_

"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year. The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king," Eleanor explained to her guests as she gestured toward her dress. She paused as she noticed Dáibhádh and Garahel approaching. She wore a doting smile as she announced, "Ah, here is my younger son. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation is handled?"

"Yes, Mother. Nan is back to work as we speak." The words flew out of his mouth before Dáibhádh realized it. _Curse my chivalry! No wonder she insisted on those lessons when I was a boy. _

"You've always had a way with her. Darling, you remember Lady Landra? Bann Loren's wife?" Eleanora gestured to a woman her age standing next to her. The Lady of Lilypool was dressed in a yellow blouse and a brown girdle and an overskirt and brown, fingerless gloves. Dáibhádh managed to not flinch when he realized her identity.

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon," Lady Landra greeted pleasantly as she wore a familiar smile which was accented by a beauty mark.

Dáibhádh forced a smile and hoped it looked real enough._ Please... spare me this time_. "Of course. It is good to see you again, my lady."

"You're too kind, dear boy," she accepted with a twitter. "Didn't I spend half the salon shamelessly flirting with you?"

"Right in front of your family, too," the third participant added with a grimace. Dáibhádh's smile became true as he recognized the man with the short, orange locks.

"You remember my son, Dairren? I believe you two sparred in the last tourney," Landra introduced, her pale hand opened towards Dáibhádh before sliding to her son.

"And you beat me handily, as I recall," Dairren reminisced with a chuckle. He stood straighter in his orange tunic and burgundy breeches. "It's good to see you again, my lord."

Memories of clanging steel, of hard won victory, and of cheering crowds raised Dáibhádh's spirits further. "You're being modest. You fought very well."

Dairren grinned gratefully at Dáibhádh before the introductions continued. "And this is my Lady-in-waiting, Iona," Landra completed as she gazed at the youngest member of the party. "Do say something, dear."

Dáibhádh's attention found itself centered on a lovely young woman. Her hair was as fair as his and held two braids which framed her heart-shaped face. And her eyes, as shy as they were, shone like sapphires. "It is a great honor, my lord. I have heard many wonderful things about you," she greeted meekly, her hair lightly caressing her bare shoulders, though the gold dress was high enough to appease modesty.

"Don't look now, Eleanor," Landra warned her friend. "But I believe the girl has a crush on your lad."

The Lady-in-waiting's cheeks began to burn. "Lady Landra!" she whispered.

"Hush, Landra. You'll turn the poor thing scarlet," Eleanor admonished.

"Perhaps we should speak alone sometime, Iona?" Dáibhádh paused...before he realized with a jolt that he was the one who just said that.

Iona's face was scarlet as she answered. "As it... pleases you, my lord."

With a knowing smile, Landra spoke to Eleanor. "I think perhaps I shall rest now, my dear. Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

The Teyrna of Highever focused her gaze on the younger guests. "If you'll excuse us, I believe my son wishes to speak privately with me."

"Perhaps we'll retire to the study for now," Dairren replied instantly. "Farewell Lady Cousland, Lord Cousland." He nodded to Dáibhádh before he led Iona down the path, the latter timidly muttering her own farewell as she slipped past Dáibhádh.

"Good evening, your lordship," Landra bid, her smile still bright, before she walked up to the path to the bedrooms.

Dáibhádh couldn't stop himself as he watched Iona walked away. "...that's not fair."

Eleanor stepped up next to her son, her attention on the Lady-in-Waiting before shifting to him. "I know you are unhappy with your Father's decision. But there are other duties that require you to stay here. It is for the best."

Dáibhádh frowned at his mother. "My duty is to march with Father and Fergus. The darkspawn is the most dangerous enemy to all of Thedas. I could make a difference. Everyone knows that I am the most skilled warrior of our family."

Garahel sidled up against Eleanor, whimpering as he rubbed his head against her leg. The Teyrna ignored him. "One day you'll have your chance at excitement. But it is not this day. If I could, I would have you, Fergus, and Bryce stay here, and send Ser Elric out with our army."

Dáibhádh scoffed. "Elric is just a knight. He-"

"I know that, Dái," Eleanor snapped before she softened her voice. "I can't stop Bryce or Fergus from leaving. But I can stop you. I can't tell you how much it ails me to think that I might lose all of you to some hideous monsters while I must remain here. But my decision is not made at the whim of my desires. There are important duties for you to fulfill. You will not be idle." She glanced up the stone path. "And it may not be as forlorn as you might fear. Landra says she's a good, dutiful young woman. She'd make a good wife for you."

Dáibhádh sighed, feeling the fight drain out of him. "I don't want just duty in a marriage or just a pretty face."

Eleanor smiled tenderly up at her son. "That's right. My son wants to be just like his parents and be blessed with love."

"It's not too much to ask for, is it?" he asked rhetorically, knowing the truth of the matter.

Sadness touched Eleanor's smile. "You know your Father and I want nothing less for you, Dái. But we can't stop the passage of time either. You'll be twenty next year, and you've yet to court a woman. Fergus was married at seventeen. Cailan and Anora were pledged to be married when they were children."

"Yet they only married five years ago," Dáibhádh reminded her, eager for a distraction now that his Mother had the upper hand. "I've never understood that. Why weren't they married sooner?"

"There were...reasons for it. Perhaps not good ones, but reasons all the same." Eleanor shook her head as she thought of the unpleasant affairs. "And now poor Anora is still without child. I can't tell you how upset she is over that. Ever since her mother died, she's been confiding in me every time I visit Denerim. She's very worried what will happen to her if she doesn't have a son soon."

Dáibhádh understood all too well what the consequences of a barren Queen would be. "May the Maker watch over her. But Highever already has an heir. Oren is a healthy lad and will have a loyal man in me."

"Just because Fergus has safeguarded our family line doesn't mean I want to deprive you of the joys of being a father and a husband," Eleanor countered. "I am only trying to help you find happiness. I won't be around forever."

"Don't talk like that," Dáibhádh interrupted, a worried scowl etched into his face. "You may not be as...young as you once were, but you still have many years left on Thedas."

"Maker-willing, I do. But I would rest easier if I knew my younger son was happily married and expecting a child. I know I can't force love to come to you, and I can't promise that Iona will be the one. But at least I can provide the possibility," she finished gently as she cupped his cheek with a hand. "Between her and the Grey Warden, I'm sure you'll enjoy your time here."

Dáibhádh heard a whimper and glanced down. Garahel was looking up at him with hopeful eyes. Despite Garahel's encouragement, Dáibhádh knew who won, yet again. "Very well, Mother."

Eleanor's smile shined with relief. "Thank you for understanding." She leaned up and kissed his forehead. "I love you, my darling boy. You know that, don't you?"

"I love you, too," he assured her, pulling her in for a quick hug.

"Good." She took a step back before glancing up the walkway. "You should say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance. He's probably with Orianna right now."

"I will, Mother."

Satisfied, Eleanor strolled down the path. "I am going to get Bryce so we can say our farewells too. I'll see you shortly, my dear."

Dáibhádh heard a rumble at his feet. When he looked, Garahel stared up at him with big eyes that spoke all they needed. "Hey now, I did not betray you! I...merely...adapted my decision based on new circumstances."

Garahel stared at him.

"Oh, alright, I'm sorry for asking you to do all that for naught," Dáibhádh knelt down next to his companion. "I never expected Mother to have that card up her sleeve. Tell you what, for such a devoted performance, I'll give you three treats tonight, and we'll go on a hunting trip soon. How does that sound?"

Garahel barked as he spun in a happy circle before licking at his master's face. Dáibhádh laughed before he ended the face-cleaning session. "Let's go see how Fergus is."


	4. Ch 4: Brother

**Ch.4: Brother**

Dáibhádh paused at his brother's bedroom when he heard Orianna and Oren inside. He waited a moment before he knew he wasn't going to stumble into the middle of something like an oaf. When he pushed the door ajar, he found his brother standing in the room's center with Orianna at his side and Oren in front of him. Dáibhádh nearly chuckled when he saw his older brother standing before the bookcases and his desk. _I bet ten sovereigns that he has yet to finish even one of those tomes. _

"Is there really going to be a war, Papa? Will you bring me back a sward?" Oren asked as he looked up at his father. Even now, Dáibhádh could only marvel at how much Oren looked like his father. The boy took his brown locks, his brown eyes, all of it from Fergus. _If I met both of them at the same age, I'd swear that they were twins. _

"That's sword, Oren," Fergus corrected as he knelt down to speak with his son. His red steel armor rattled as his knee met the stone floor. His confident smile was framed by a proper moustache and a beard that neglected his cheeks. "And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"I wish victory was indeed so certain," Orianna hoped uneasily. Unlike her husband and son, Orianna shared her hair color with her brother-in-law, though Dáibhádh's locks were brighter. "My heart is...disquiet," she admitted as her fingers nervously played with each other.

"Don't frighten the boy, love, I speak the truth." Climbing back onto his feet, the older Cousland faced the door, grinning. "And here is my little brother to see me off. Dry your eyes, love, and wish me well."

Despite the clear invitation, Dáibhádh hesitated. "Should I wait outside?"

"Stay," Fergus answered, "I'd like to say farewell. Moreover, who won? You or Mother?" The answering sigh dragged a laugh out of him. "Once again, Mother scores yet another victory. I should have taken that bet with Ser Elric, but I thought you might've had a chance."

"Mother...had an unexpected trick prepared for me," Dáibhádh admitted uneasily as he walked up to the other half of his family. Garahel followed him in before sitting next to Oren, rubbing his head against the child. Oren energetically scratched the dog's head. The mabari's head wailed very appreciatively.

"Oh?" A hand reached up and scratched at Fergus' beard. "Don't tell me that the Warden-Commander alone was all the incentive you needed?"

"No, no, she had something stronger than that," Dáibhádh reluctantly assured him.

"Ah, Iona," Fergus realized after a moment of pondering. He chuckled. "Mother is desperate to keep you home to go as far as to bribe you with Wardens and pretty elven maids."

Dáibhádh stared at Fergus, uncomprehendingly. "...elven?"

This provoked a furious roar of laughter out of the elder brother. Dáibhádh could only wait in embarrassment for his brother to calm down. Orianna smiled sympathetically at him before she chastised her husband, "Fergus, I think that's enough."

"I don't get it, what's so funny?" Oren asked as his eyes bounced back and forth between his father and his uncle.

"Oh, little brother," Fergus declared as his guffawing died away, "for all the books and scrolls you study, you can be such a fool at times. Though, I suppose I shouldn't blame you. Iona is a rather human-looking elf, isn't she? In truth, I only knew because I happen to catch a quick glance at one of her ears after Mother introduced us. It's almost as though she hides it."

_Is she ashamed of her heritage? _Dáibhádh pushed the mystery away and decided to jump right to the matter which brought him here, lest his brother make any more jests at his expense. "I bring a message: Father wants you to leave without him."

Fergus' merriment withered. "Then the Arl's men are delayed. You'd think all of his men were walking backwards." The Heir of Highever sighed before he shrugged. "Well, I'd better be on my way. So many Darkspawn to behead, so little time. Off I go, then." He turned to Orianna, giving her a quick kiss. "I'll see you soon, my love."

Dáibhádh prepared to speak when another voice beat him to it. "I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave."

Stepping back to move out of the way, Dáibhádh watched as his father and mother walked into the room. Eleanor Cousland went straight to Fergus as she took ahold of his shoulders. "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day that you are gone," she said tenderly before releasing him.

"Fergus will be fine, Mother," Dáibhádh reassured her.

"I keep telling you, no Darkspawn will ever best me," Fergus seconded, his tone confident but understanding.

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us," Orianna prayed as her eyes lingered over Bryce and Fergus.

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus boisterously supplemented. Upon receiving a quiet glare from his wife and his mother, he hastily threw in, "for the men, of course."

"Fergus! You would say this in front of your mother?" Orianna chided him.

"What's a wench?" Oren piped in as he looked up curiously at the group of adults. "Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

Oren's grandfather handled the question. "A wench is a woman who pours the ale in a tavern, Oren. ...or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

Fergus and Dáibhádh snickered at their father's answer. "Bryce!" Eleanor admonished as she turned her glare on him. "Maker's breath, I swear, it's like living with a pack of small boys."

"I'll miss you, Mother dear," Fergus chuckled before turning to his younger brother. "You'll take care of her, brother, won't you?"

"Mother can handle herself," Dáibhádh replied dryly as he gave her a sideways glance. "Always has."

With a ready grin, Fergus agreed, "It's true. They should be sending her, not me. She would scold those Darkspawn back into the Deep Roads."

Eleanor was not amused. "Well, I'm glad you find this so funny."

"Enough, enough," Bryce chuckled as he intervened, "Pup, you'll want to get an early night. You've much to do tomorrow."

"Yes, Father. Fergus, I need to ask something of you. Walk with me?" Dáibhádh requested as he looked to his older brother.

"Of course, one moment." Fergus slowly untangled himself from his family, giving his wife one last kiss, his mother a bear hug, his father a quick 'good-bye', and Oren a ruffled mop of hair before he left the bedroom with Dáibhádh. Garahel trotted after them after giving Oren a farewell lick. The day was giving way to night as the shadows poured over the open-topped pathway.

The younger Cousland waited until they were halfway down the path, right where he found his mother earlier before he spoke, "Since I'm not going anymore, I want you to take Kallian with you as your servant until you reach Denerim. She's going to her cousin's marriage, and I'd prefer she make the journey in good company. She's capable enough that she won't be a burden."

"I have no doubt," Fergus replied with a knowing smirk, "Though I must say. Dái, you certainly have an unusual taste in women."

"I - what?"

"Tsk, tsk, little brother," Fergus went on, his mischievous grin widening, "Whatever shall the Maker think of you bedding your own servant girl?"

"I haven't touched her!" Dáibhádh protested, his cheeks reddening.

"And now this Lady-in-Waiting? What is it with you and elves? Well, at least, the human-looking ones. Do the normal ones not please your sight? Maker's Breath, if it were up to me, I'd double the size of their meals. As thin as they are, one would think they were skipping meals."

"Har har, you've had your jest. Kindly redirect your attention to the matter at hand?" Dáibhádh growled.

"Stop?" Fergus 'considered' the request. "Hmmm, perhaps...maybe I will...no. No, I'm having too much fun with this. And this is the last time I'll have this opportunity until I vanquish the Darkspawn. I've got to get it all out of my system." He slammed a hand onto his brother's shoulder. "Thank you for being so understanding. After all, there aren't many nobles who dance across the battlefield in dresses and blush like young squires when the topic of the fairer sex brought up."

Dáibhádh punched the hand off of him. "I haven't been a squire in years, and it's a kilt!"

"True indeed, little brother. I suppose it could be worse," Fergus mused. A wicked gleam entered into his eye. "You are over your crush on Anora, I hope?"

"Aren't you supposed to be leading the army out of Highever?" Dáibhádh pointedly remarked.

"Now, _that _would be quite the scandal. Cailan's former squire bedding his queen. Even if our mutual friend Cailan does have trouble keeping his breeches on, there are limits, Dái. Is that why you've rejected every noblewoman Mother has paraded in front of you?"

"A small parade," Dáibhádh snapped back, "The Lady of the Waking Sea? A woman fifteen years my senior. The daughter of Bann Cian of the Western Hills? She is as vapid and shallow as the worst Orlesian noblewomen. And let us not forget Arl Howe's own attempts to wed me to Delilah."

"Don't blame me for being born second. You know just as well as I do that this is the way of things. First come, first served. Though I admit, it is hard for any woman to measure up to Anora, isn't it? But it looks like Mother's patience is running out." Fergus' countenance morphed into something more serious. "You _haven't _bedded Anora...right?"

Dáibhádh glared at him. "Of course I haven't! You know me. I'd never betray Cailan or taint Anora's honor." Garahel barked in stalwart support.

"Not to mention face Loghain's wrath." Fergus shivered. "I know if I'd ever get into that kind of trouble, the first thing I'd do is cross the Waking Sea and head straight to the Anderfels and join the Chantry." He let loose a happy sigh as he looked back up toward his room. "I am glad that I have my Orianna." He shifted his gaze to the other Cousland. "And it is time for me to leave. Tell your servant girl that if she wishes to travel with me, she'd better hurry."

Dáibhádh stepped back. "I will. Maker watch over you, Fergus."

"Farewell Dái," the Highever commander said with a wave before he marched away.

The soon-to-be Seneschal of Highever hurried back to his room where he found Kallian and his squire waiting dutifully for him. "There's been a change of plans. I will not be marching to war, after all." Both the squire and the servant stared at him, the former forlorn, the latter surprised. "Kallian, if you wish to travel to Denerim in safe company, you must leave immediately. You will serve my brother instead of me. He understands my plans and will not interfere. Do you have the Letter of Introductions I wrote for you?"

The servant nodded deeply and kept her head bowed. "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Remember, all you have to do is show it to the Master of the Cousland manor in Denerim, and he will give you work and quarters once the wedding is concluded. I will come to collect you on the 17th of Justinian, a little over a month from now." Dáibhádh moved to the side so he wasn't blocking the exit, granting her a weary smile. "Maker watch over you, Kallian."

She took a reluctant step forward before flashing a vexed look at the page, resentful of his presence. "...thank you, my lord," she said stiffly. Before she walked out, Garahel moved forward and whimpered as he rubbed his head against her skirt.

She smiled down at him before giving his left ear a good scratch. "I'll miss you too. Keep an eye on Lord Cousland for me?"

The war hound solemnly nodded, moving his head as little as possible as he enjoyed Kallian's attention. The elf spared another moment before she resumed her exit, politely bowing her head to Cousland before she left.

_At least one of us isn't bound by protocol, _Dáibhádh thought as his gaze shifted from Kallian to Garahel. It was one aspect of nobility that he chafed under. It was the same reason that he couldn't be completely lax with his family in public or be friendlier with his servants and subordinates, including Nan, Ser Gilmore, and others. "Now, Hoyt," he started as he focused his attention on the boy.

The red-haired lad stood straight at the mention of his name. He wasn't successful in hiding the disappointment on his face or from resisting an anxious look aimed at the large travel pack resting on Dáibhádh's large bed. _I should order him to help me unpack and put away my things. Father said I have a long day ahead of me, and I will need rest. _Dáibhádh studied his squire before he sighed. _He's as disappointed as I am that we aren't heading to battle. _"I relieve of your duties for the night. Go sleep, we have a busy day on the morrow."

Some of the discouragement slid away as relief took its place. "Yes, my lord." The brown-eyed boy ran out of the room, lest his master change his mind.

After Dáibhádh closed the door behind him, he sighed before he grabbed the pack and pulled it off of his bed. Deciding to handle it later, he placed it next to the door. Before he could do anything else, Garahel pawed at his leg. "Hm? Oh, right, right." Dáibhádh opened the door and waited expectantly on his hound.

Garahel whined as he stared at his master.

"Don't try that look on me. Unlike Nan, I'm used to it enough to be immune. And do I need to remind you of the mess you made the last time I let you see where the treats were?"

The mabari 'harrumphed' before he filed out of the room. Dáibhádh closed the door behind him before he quickly took off his boots. Then he tip-toed over to the stone bath and carefully pried open one of the floor stones next to it. Still aiming for complete silence, he pulled the clay jar out of the hole and moved to the other side of the room. He unplugged the jar, the aroma of treats slipping out as he grabbed three of them. Garahel whimpered again as the dog noisily paced back and forth in front of the bedroom door. Dáibhádh dropped the treats on the bed before he quietly replaced the jug in the hole and covered it. Once he was sure all was secure, he grabbed the treats. _I wonder how hard other mabari partners have to work to hide this stuff. _

Only now did Dáibhádh open the door and let Garahel charge in. The warrior sidestepped as his hound almost barreled him over. He dropped one treat as a distraction, while he closed the door. Garahel dived onto it, maw snapping it down. Dáibhádh tossed the next two into the air and watched as Garahel portrayed his best bird imitation. A large thud resounded through the room as Garahel landed. "A flying mabari," Dáibhádh mused, "now that would be a terrifying sight to behold."

While Garahel chomped down on his last snack, his human unbuckled the rest of his armor, letting it drop next to the bed. _I'll take care of that tomorrow, too_, he thought before he sat down. His gloved hands rested on legs. His mouth twitched toward a frown._ Iona never mentioned them. Did she truly not notice, or does she not care?_ He twisted until he was looking at the desk on the other side of the bed. The open journal stared back at him, half of it covered in his words, the other half ready for him._ I shouldn't write tomorrow. I shouldn't have written last night. I need to be focused on my duties and keep that door closed for now...until a better time._ His mind made up, he slipped beneath the silk covers, leaving the gloves on for the night. His mind buzzed with needed tasks and chores to take care of as he drifted off into sleep, the soft vessel floating him onwards to the Fade.


	5. Ch 5: Nephew

**Ch.5: Nephew**

The spurts of fire exuding from the creature caused Dáibhádh to push himself further into the cranny he was hiding in. _Don't look this way. Maker, please distract him._ The fiery demon slid across the patchwork of stone and metal landscape, scouring the mess of holes, hills, and hideaways for him.

"Come to me, tasty morsel!" the rage demon howled as it threw fire into one empty nook. The Couslands' youngest son fought back a whimper as the sight of unleashed flame filled him with terror._ Don't move_, he implored himself.

The rage demon strode onward, pausing at another spot, happening to stop between Dáibhádh and his view of the Black City. To see the glowing demon framed by the the infamous city's darkness, was as though dread incarnate was suffocating him.

_This is only the Fade. In another moment, I shall wake and find myself back in my bed._

Before that moment came, the rage demon shifted its gaze...until it stared right at him. "There you are! I shall enjoy this!" it roared as it charged toward him. Its prey yelped as he scampered out of his hole and sprinted away. Dáibhádh gained a quick lead as he hurried through the empyrean world. For all his speed garnered for him, it came to naught when the ruined plains abruptly gave way into nothingness. Beyond him, the rest of the Fade and the green-tinged fog enveloping it displayed itself for him. Dáibhádh peered over the edge and saw nothing to aid him in escape.

He spun around the exact moment the demon leaped at him. "Aaaaahhh," he screamed as his eyes snapped open. He froze as he stared straight ahead. Instead of the Fade's eerie sky, the familiar red canopy of his bed greeted him. He was no longer maintaining his balance on a disordered mob of rocks but lying down in comforting blankets. A loaded sigh flew out of his mouth as he relaxed.

Then he became aware of Garahel growling at the bedroom door. The noble pushed himself up as he asked, "What's wrong, boy?"

Garahel's bark was punctured by a noise from outside the door. A scream. Dáibhádh threw the covers off as grabbed his leather armor. _Laziness helps me for once_. He struggled to extend his hearing as he snapped buckles on. There was a dull, constant babble outside, but nothing he could identify specifically. The swords were the last items to being secured when his bedroom door burst open.

His dagger dashed out of its scabbard before he recognized his visitor. "Cavan?"

The brown-haired servant's panicked scream answered, "My lord! Help me! The castle is under attac-" Cavan grunted as an arrow perforated his back.

Garahel and Dáibhádh wasted no time. The giant mabari barked as he stormed out of the room with his master pausing to pull Cavan inside, the man's limp body warning him that his act of mercy was pointless. A lightly armored soldier tried to defend his comrade-archer. Garahel bowled into him, the wooden shield saving the invader from Garahel's jaws. The archer took aim at the warhound to relieve his ally of the foe. Then Dáibhádh reminded him that the mabari wasn't alone.

As Cousland ran at the archer, a third soldier intercepted, sweeping his sword at the noble's legs. Reflexively jumping, Dáibhádh dodged and jabbed with his sword. The soldier bellowed as the sword caught him in the face. The foe temporarily disabled, Dáibhádh continued after the archer. The man stumbled back as he grabbed for at his scabbard. Strangely, no sword was there for the soldier to draw. Before he could pull out an arrow, Dáibhádh put an end to him with one swipe. The second soldier, hearing his comrade dying, threw his shield at Garahel before he tried to sprint away. Gaharel hopped to the side as he dodged the shield and pounced on the soldier before he made it far.

The last soldier eyed Dáibhádh fearfully as he clutched at his bleeding face. Before either he or Cousland could act, an arrow punctured through his heart. Dáibhádh's head turned and saw Lady Eleanor wielding her bow in her bedroom's door frame. Gone was her Orlesian dress; in its place was a set of iron-studded leather armor. She hurried over to him, "Darling! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mother," Dáibhádh replied, relief filling his voice as he saw her free of injury. "What's going on?"

"The scream woke me up!" Eleanor admitted fearfully. "There were men in the hall, so I barred the door. Did you see their shields?" Dáibhádh realized he hadn't noticed. From the moment the fight began, all of his focus had been on survival. Now, he looked at one and saw a familiar bear sigil. "Those are Howe's men! Why would they attack us?"

Dáibhádh struggled to understand the reason. He's Father's closest friend and they have been friends for decades. _We've made no attempt to take his land and relations have been cordial. ...I don't understand! _He shook his head. "I don't know Mother, but we need to get out of here."

"Have you seen your father?" He never came to bed!"

Dáibhádh felt his heart freeze over. "No, I haven't- we need to find him immediately. If Howe is really behind this, Father will be his first target."

"We must find him!" Eleanor agreed.

Dáibhádh took a step toward the castle when a disturbing thought entered his mind. "We should check on Orianna and Oren, as well."

"Andraste's mercy!" Eleanor breathed, "What if the soldiers went into your brother's room first? Let's check on them! Quickly! Then we'll look for Bryce downstairs!"

One look at his brother's bedroom and he felt the air sucked out of him. The door was ajar. "Oren! Orianna?!" he shouted as he crashed into the wooden door. He saw them. Oren had gotten his wish when some monster tried to cleave through his small body and gotten his sword stuck halfway through his chest. Orianna was next to him, a single hole in her chest as she lay next to her son. Both faces were permanently etched in fear as their dull eyes stared at the ceiling.

Eleanor stepped into the room as her son's grip clenched until his nails were cutting into his palms. "Noooo!" she wailed, a sob jerking out of her throat. "My little Oren...what manner of fiends slaughter innocents?"

"I'll have Howe's head for this!" Dáibhádh snarled, even as tears slid down his face._ I've failed them. Fergus...please, forgive me._

**_Why give him such an easy death? _**The Highever noble flinched. His eyes swept over his companions, hoping none of them noticed his startled reaction.

Garahel whimpered as he moved to Oren, nuzzling his face as he tried to revive him. When Oren remained motionless, the mabari howled as he joined his family's lament.

"Howe's not even taking hostages," Eleanor realized fearfully as she knelt down next to her fallen grandson. "He means to kill all of us! Oh, poor Fergus..." The lady abruptly stood back up and hurried out, moaning, "Let's go, I don't want to see any of this."

Dáibhádh waited a moment. _I'll defend the castle and end this treachery_, he silently promised his lost family. _Then I'll come back and see that you are taken care of. _Only after, did he follow his mother out.

The three of them reached the door to the guest chambers when Eleanor froze. "Howe wouldn't dare provoke Lilypool by attacking Landra...would he?"

_Iona_! "We must hurry!" After he shoved the door open, three more of Howe's soldiers faced toward them. Two archers took aim and fired, but not before Dáibhádh slammed the door shut. Once the arrows were spent, he and his faithful hound charged back in. The shieldman stood between them and the archers._ A fool_. Dáibhádh was forced to revise his opinion of the lone soldier when a fourth one nearly backstabbed him. While Garahel snapped at the shieldman, Dáibhádh dueled the rogue. One of the archers grinned as he lined an easy shot at the lordling. Eleanor fired a bolt right through the smug monster's neck. His fellow archer flinched when his comrade gurgled and dived out of the door's line of sight. The few seconds to secure his safety were undone when he saw the younger Cousland running at him, the rogue falling to the floor behind him with a bloody 'x' carved into his chest.

The last archer threw his bow at him as he drew his dagger. Dáibhádh cut the bow with his sword, spun mid-step, and cut forward with his knife. The archer reflexively sliced up. His knife hit into the leather vambrace and went no farther. Cousland's knife pierced into the archer's heart.

Garahel took a cut to his back, but snatched the soldier's leg with his maw. With one great tug, the soldier yelped as his leg was pulled out from beneath him. As the invader struggled to free his leg, he became aware of a grey-haired woman standing a few feet away, bow ready. "Mer-!" His cry silenced by an arrow.

Eleanor didn't wait another moment as she ran over to one of the guest room doors. She threw the door open...then took one horrified step back. "Oh, dear Landra," she whispered as the sight of her murdered friend added to her sorrow. "I'm so sorry." As her grief threatened to overpower her, a hand gently laid on her shoulder. She looked up at her son and couldn't stop the words from pouring out, " ..if she hadn't come to me- if she hadn't been here..."

Dáibhádh struggled to offer some words of comfort, but all the words that came to him sounded trite and shallow. Worse, his struggle with his own fear and rage kept tearing at his attention. The distant sound of fighting from the castle below flashed mental pictures of his father. "We...we need to keep moving," he reminded her, his face a grimace as he felt guilt and selfishness prod at him.

His mother nodded before he led her away. While his mother released another sob, Dáibhádh stared at the guest room across the way. The door was broken and showed the fate of its lone occupant. It was Hoyt's habit to lock his door at night, a habit imparted into by his father, Bann Cian. It had spared the boy for a few precious minutes. When the soldiers finally broke through, Hoyt was not found wanting, evidenced by the dead soldier at his feet.

_I swear to the Maker that you will be avenged and your father will know that you acted with the courage and valor of a true knight, _Dáibhádh promised the boy, who had been a faithful attendant.

After tearing his eyes away from the grisly end of his squire, Dáibhádh led them onward. The door to the rest of the keep was left open by the intruders. And none waited for them on the downward path. As they ran, Dáibhádh's thoughts wandered. _How many soldiers are inside the keep? Is Iona still in the study? How many of the guards do we have left? Where's Duncan? Will he fight with us? Will Howe give him a choice?_

"Can you hear the fighting?" Eleanor asked as she stared at the end of the path. Dáibhádh nodded. It was no longer a distant sound, and it echoed from several directions. "Howe's men must be everywhere."

"If we can find Father and rally the guardsmen, all we need to do is secure the main gate," he outlined, "If we have that, then we can wait out Howe, send a message to Fergus to turn the army around, and catch Howe between Fergus and our walls. We'll crush him."

"Bryce should be there," Eleanor hoped before she added, "I know how we can get a message to Fergus. The servant's entry in the larder, that's how we can escape."

Dáibhádh nodded. "You and Father will leave while I cleanse the castle and keep Howe out. We have enough provisions to last us a few months."

"I won't have it!" The Lady of Highever replied, "the three of us will leave the castle together. I will not lose any more of my family to that despicable man."

Before the argument could continue, an unarmed servant ran into them right where the path split. Dáibhádh recognized Banbhán, the butcher's younger brother. "The castle is fallen! I'm getting out of here!"

He wasn't given the chance. "Don't be a coward!" Dáibhádh shouted at him, his voice deeper as Fergus taught him. He stood erect and glared at the man, daring him to counter his lord's will. "Stand and fight!" Not waiting for an answer, he flipped his sword around and held it out to the man.

All thoughts of flight fled from the man as he took the weapon. "Y-yes, my lord." He threw a glance over his shoulder. "Here they come!"

Dáibhádh jumped ahead of Banbhán as he wielded his dagger with his left hand. The charging soldier made the mistake of underestimating the noble, languidly swinging at his target. The youngest Cousland sidestepped the blow and almost casually cut across the man's unprotected throat. The soldier blinked in pure surprise as his blood flowed. He dropped his sword, which Dáibhádh snatched up before it hit the ground.

Garahel raced past his master and lunged at the archer who just rounded the corner. The man screamed before the beast was upon him. Banbhán paused as both attackers were neutralized before he could even swing. When Dáibhádh rotated to look at him, he saw another fight at the opposite end of the path where a small melee between Amaranthine and Highever soldiers fought.

The guardsmen were holding but were pressed against a pile of rubble which severed the circular path around the main hall. The rubble wasn't high, but the wooden debris was aflame, leaving them no chance of escape. Focusing his eyes solely on his men, the youngest Cousland commanded, "To their relief!"

The two fighters and the mabari rushed to the guardsmen's aid. However the Lady of Highever scored the first kill when an arrow sprouted from the back of one of Howe's minions. The Amaranthinians suddenly realized they were now the ones surrounded and made to run away through a door next to the path's corner. The opportunity was ripped away from them by their vengeful opponents in a fury of blades. The moment his men were safe, the youngest Cousland spun around and took two steps away from the blaze. A shudder rippled through him, much to his embarrassment.

Before anyone could inquire about his strange behavior, the battle continued when Dáibhádh heard a scream come from within the nearest door. He sprung through the door and found two more of his men fighting for their lives in Highever's second dining hall. The scream came from one of the Highever guards who had a sword embedded in his stomach.

"Highever stands!" Dáibhádh yelled as he led his new band of reinforcements into the small hall.

The first Howe soldier, distracted by the lord, was cut down by the guardsman he was fighting. The second one, his sword still in the dying Highever guard, released his grip and dropped to his knees. "I surrender!" he shouted right as Cousland and the guards rounded around the large table and were bearing down on him.

Dáibhádh ground his teeth as he stared down at him. _How dare he..._

"Kill him, my lord," one of the guards spat out. Garahel growled in agreement.

"We don't have time to take prisoners," another added.

The lordling glared at the unarmed man. His grip tightened around his sword. "Tell me," he began quietly.

"Anything, my lord!" the coward shouted.

"Why is my innocent nephew dead?"

The man's eyes widen before he thrust himself toward his sword. As the craven wrapped his hand around the hilt, a different blade pierced through his heart.


	6. Ch 6: Home

**Ch.6: Home**

After pulling his sword out of the fresh corpse, Dáibhádh scanned over his tiny army. Five guardsmen and one armed servant watched him, ready to follow his command. The Teyrn's son kept his face composed, while doubts rolled around in him. _Only nine of us to retake the entire keep. Unless the other guards are holding or unless Howe suffered severe casualties, this does not bode well. Still, the ring path around the main hall is now broken, so the enemy will only be ahead of us. _Aloud, he questioned, "Has anyone seen my father?" A chorus of 'no, my lord' answered. The same chorus repeated when he asked about Duncan, Iona, and Dairren. "Then we march. Guards in two ranks, two with me in first rank, and three in second rank. Banbhán, protect the Lady."

The guardsmen hurried to construct the formation as the servant stepped toward his new charge. Dáibhádh took lead before heading out. As they made their circuit through the keep, he tried to hear where the battle was taking place. Unfortunately, the screams and metallic clashes bounced off the keep's walls rendering any such attempt futile. As they neared the south-western corner of the path, a new fear clawed at the young man. Fire had climbed along one of the main hall's outer pillars, feeding on overgrown vines. While that one would snuff its own life out, an outbreak at a critical location could destroy part or the entire castle. _Ita is with the army, but Alaois should still be in his room. Hopefully, he knows some water or ice magic, along with his powers of healing, and Howe hasn't found him first._

At the corner, the long path running alongside the main hall's southern wall was free of enemy and fire. Dáibhádh glanced at the open door nearby which led to Highever's library and study. He shared a look with his Mother who gave him a nod. "I need one man to go with me and search for survivors. The rest of you will travel with the Lady and secure the armory. See to it, that he," the gloved Cousland pointed to Banbhán, "Is properly armed and armoured."

"Be careful, my son," Eleanor warned him. "Take no chances."

"I'll return in a minute, Mother," he promised her before rushing through the open doorway. _Brace yourself..._

His cynicism rewarded him when a weaker mental blow struck him. The chapel was his place of refuge for his spirit, but here, surrounded by knowledge both ancient and recent, was his refuge for his mind. Highever boasted one of the most complete libraries of Ferelden, second only to Denerim, and Dáibhádh had done his best to read all of it, spending hours here simply learning, at times on his own, and others, guided by the scholar Aldous. Fergus often joked the sage lived in the library, and, as Dáibhádh marched down the center aisle, it was to be the elder's grave. In death, Aldous' expression was locked in pained surprise, never realizing until too late the danger washing through the castle before some knave cut him down, his death poisoning Dáibhádh's intellectual sanctuary. As the lordling knelt down besides his former mentor, he couldn't help but think, _What threat could he possibly present? How much blood will you steep yourself in until you're satisfied, Howe?_

Garahel growled next to him, giving sound to his master's inner rage.

"My lord," the guard timidly said, "by the study's entrance."

"Two more victims?" Dáibhádh guessed as he fought to keep the rage within.

"Aye, lord, it's the Teyrn's squire and the Lady of Lilypool's Lady-in-Waiting."

_That's right. Dairren came here to serve my Father during the fight against the Darkspawn, _he remembered , Cousland gazed toward the study's entrance. Dairren, unarmed, was murdered as he tried to run to the study. Perhaps he had heard Aldous' death and had run out to investigate, only to find Howe's soldiers running toward him. Whatever the cause, the man died a foot from the study door, one arm reaching for the handle...and Iona's body was left to rot in the doorway, blood staining her beautiful dress, their source being two arrows in her chest. _WHY!? What crime have we committed, what slight have we done to the Arl to warrant this butchery!? _Dáibhádh jerked to his feet and turned toward the door, entertaining the notion to simply dash toward the keep's entrance then charge out, slaughtering all who would stand between him and his hated enemy.

_**Burn him alive, quarter him, disembowel him, then show him his intestines before he passes away in agony.**_

Dái clenched his eyes as he pushed the voice away. _I do not serve you!_

"My lord, perhaps we return to the Lady at the armoury?" the guard suggested as he waited on him.

_Mother._ A pang of guilt reverberated within as he realized he had forgotten all about her. "Be swift," he firmly ordered before exploding into a run, trying to channel some of his fury into the simple exercise. The guard, surprised by his lord's speed, struggled to catch up, while Garahel kept pace with him. He left the library behind and took the first right, which led him down a short path. Another guardsman kept watch for more invaders from the armoury door. The man managed to sidestep before being bowled over by the quick-footed noble and his hound.  
The rest of the guard contingent occupied the armoury, most on alert while a few rested on the few tables in the room. To Dái's encouragement, the armoury wasn't ransacked, leaving the weapon racks and armor stands filled with metal forged for war. In addition, two more guards joined them and Banbhán looked like a proper soldier. _If we can round up the rest of the servants, we could form an auxiliary force to augment our guards. _The ones here were already properly equipped, wearing affordable but effective plate armor, which placed them one step higher than their Amaranthian adversaries.

The lordling paused next to the side door to the treasury. _Wait, none of the Arl's men we've seen have been wearing heavy armor. All of them are in light, which means all we've dealt with are scouts and skirmishers. _Dái's imagination conjured a picture of Howe's knights and heavy infantry waiting outside Highever, ready to be sent to battle at a moment's notice. He shook it off. _Even if that is the case, we haven't lost yet. _He stepped into the treasury and was immediately surrounded by four guards and Lady Eleanor.

"Darling?" was all she had to ask. The look he gave her was answer enough. "Not even Aldous?" He shook his head wearily. "I knew him when he was still an apprentice," she whispered mournfully, glancing towards the library before she gestured to the guards, and Dái noticed each one holding a piece of scale armor. "We have little time, but I think this necessary. Here, change into this. Bryce prepared it for you and it was supposed to be your gift when you marched with him. It's light enough for you to fight with and will offer better protection than those leathers."

_Was it only today that we were to march? _The now-youngest Cousland nodded his agreement before he made the switch. Although it took a minute or two, it was enough for him to appraise his new gift as the guards help him strap it on. He recalled an earlier conversation with his father where Bryce asked his son which was more important for a commander: to be able to slay his enemies or to be an inspiration to his soldiers. Dái had answered the latter.

The plate armor he now wore reflected that. Although the silverite armor added more weight than his previous armor, the plates were thinner, decreasing its protection but allowed him his usual speed and flexibility, evidenced as he rotated his various joints, slowly accumulating himself to the new armor. Even the gauntlets were so well-crafted that he had no trouble moving his fingers as he flexed them. An extra pauldron was added to his left shoulder to protect his non-sword arm, while displaying golden shapes to distinguish himself. All across the armor, engravings of rampaging Mabari hounds declared his status as a Ferelden war leader. Finally, a silverite helm with golden drake scales decorating it was placed over his head. A sharp, thin horn jutted out from the helmet's forehead, in a vague similarity to a dragon's head horns.

As the last piece was secured, Eleanor stepped up to him, holding a sword and a shield. The designs carved onto them alerted Dáibhádh to what they were. "The Shield of Highever and Arlan?"

"We can't allow them to fall into Howe's hands." She offered both of them to her son. "I know you eschew shields but you are now its guardian, while Arlan is to be wielded. Use it to keep yourself safe."

Dáibhádh stared at the two Cousland treasures and felt a mixture of pride and worry. "Mother, Highever will not fall today. We will stand and pay Howe for this treachery."

"I will leave nothing to chance," she replied stubbornly. "As your Lady, I order you to take them and protect them. It is only fitting that Arlan be the sword to sever Howe's neck."

The youngest Cousland couldn't agree more, but he still did not like the sense of defeat behind her words. "As you command, my Lady," he answered as he accepted them. The Shield of Highever, he immediately wore on his back, and wasn't to be used in battle. As loath as he was to treat it so, it was necessary, if nothing else, it'd add extra armor to his back. Arlan, on the other hand, was to suffer no such indignity. He tossed away the sword he had stolen and placed his family's sword in its place. In addition to being a silverite longsword, it was an enchanted blade and was passed down from Winfred, son of Elethea, the first Highever knight to serve Calenhad the Great.

Dáibhádh didn't grimace but couldn't stop the sense of foreboding pervading through him. Arlan was created not long after the Couslands were defeated and subdued by Calenhad during his war to unite Ferelden under his kingship, which brought an end to Highever's independence. Winfred had served faithfully with Arlan at his side, but Arlan, or "Oath", was a symbol of subjugation, not of victory. _Nonsense! Calenhad defeated us honorably, not through betrayal. I will burn before I see Howe victorious over us. _"I swear to the Maker that with this blade, I will see justice delivered upon Howe."

Lady Eleanor nodded before she implored, "May the Maker grant you his blessing, but we must hurry now." She exited the treasury, and Dái heard the small racketing jingle of coins. A copious amount of coins.

_Did she empty the entire treasury, as well? _He pushed the thought aside as he rallied his men. Now numbering eleven, they left the armoury behind and marched back toward the main path. The barking of mabari hounds warned of the next attack as they reached the intersection. _More skirmishers? Has Howe committed any of his knights yet?_ The three enemy hounds, obeying their masters, leaped into view and attacked, attempted to throw them into chaos before the soldiers came and took advantage of the disorder. A classic tactic. An obvious tactic.

The Lady of Highever shot the first hound dead before he reached the guards. Garahel tackled the second and quickly gained the advantage. The third mabari charged into a waiting nest of men and quickly perished. "Forward!" Dáibhádh yelled as he led them around the corner. Three more of Howe soldiers greeted them. Two of the more eager were only a few feet away. They panicked when they realized they were the ones outnumbered and fled. The third one, an archer, had seen the first Mabari die and readied a shot, while his comrades surged forward. He reflexively fired when Dái emerged into sight.

The blond lordling twitched when the arrow hit him, but the missile bounced off his silverite armor and fell harmlessly to the ground. Dáibhádh marked the man as he led the Highever counter. The target threw his bow down as he ran with the two others. Thoughts of a trap flew through Dái's mind, until he saw the far end of the path. Somehow, another part of the wall was attacked and rained down a burning pile of debris, cutting the circle path again, which meant the front entrance of the keep no longer connected to their side of the keep. _They're trapped! Only two other doors down there, one to the chapel, the other leads to the wall and tower. Even if they reach the wall, they'd have to jump to escape us, and once we've purged this half of Highever, we'd needn't worry about holding it. The only way in is through the main hall. Perhaps we shouldn't extinguish the fires just yet._

As much as he wanted to enter the main hall right now, they were rapidly approaching the door. He continued the chase, intent on cleaning his home of Howe's presence. As he passed the wooden door, he heard fighting coming from inside, which meant Howe did not yet control the hall. _We must act quickly._ The three Amaranthians chose the right path to the chapel instead of going straight through the door leading up onto the battlements. _Is this the trap?_

"Be prepared!" he yelled at his men as they refused to let them go. As they rounded the corner onto the path to the chapel, he saw them running through the open door and inside he saw more Highever guardsmen trying to survive. Only now did his prey stop. Two of them joined the attack on the chapel's defenders, while the third one spun around and slammed the chapel door shut. Dáibhádh didn't stop. He curled his arm and his body as he prepared to slam into the door before they could lock it. Panting at his side told him Garahel had finished the other mabari and was with him. Together, they crashed into the door.

Howe's soldier was fiddling with the lock when the wooden door bashed into him, throwing him onto his back. He didn't have a moment to recover his thoughts before a mabari was on top of him. His comrades, who'd placed their faith in him to latch the only entrance, had their backs exposed to the incoming Highever force. Two of them howled and fell when a longsword and dagger sliced through their backs in two smooth arcs. The remaining four Amaranthians broke when they all tried to race out the door, hoping to slide past the reinforcements. The last one actually placed a hand on the doorknob before he was cut down.

A pause fell on the room as Dái took stock of the situation. Then the room was filled with heavy breathing as seven guards and one noble struggled to catch their breath after sprinting several hundred feet in full armor. Poor Banbhán looked like he was ready to collapse as he leaned against the wall. As Dái's lungs gasped for air, he realized they rescued four other guards...only guards. "Where's Mother Mallol?" he demanded as he surveyed the survivors. _Would Howe really dare murder a Mother? Has he become completely mad? _Of all the inhabitants of Highever, Dái honestly believed Mallol would survive. To see her missing amongst this small congregation was stunning to the young man.

"We don't know, my lord," the oldest guard answered. "The revered Mother was taken during the fight. She's in the Arl's hands now."

Dáibhádh didn't know whether or not to be relieved. "What about my father? Has anyone seen him?"

"No, my lord, we've been here since the vigil started," the old warrior answered again.

"Then we must go to the main hall."

"My lord!" Banbhán wheezed. "Might we rest for a few minutes longer?"

Although he gave the man a sympathetic look, Dái shook his head. "Time is of the essence. Move out!"

The servant whimpered, but as the last of the guards filed out, he fell in behind them, pumping his legs furiously. The Lady and the oldest guard brought up the rear with him, the Lady feeling her age take a toll on her, while the guard watched over both of them. At the forefront of the column, Dáibhádh reached the door. From behind the door, the orchestra of battle continued to play. The green-eyed lordling took a deep breath before he threw the door open and led the charge, and nearly tripped over a corpse.

The battle within was the most furious one of the night. Ser Gilmore led the Highever guards against the remains of a company. Despite being outnumbered, the orange-haired knight and his men fought ferociously. To Dái's confusion, many of his guards were lying still on the floor, but no blood was in sight. _With these numbers, Gilmore should've won by now. What am I missing? _Clarity visited him after he slew the first Howe soldier when a bolt of energy hit the guard next to him in the chest. Dáibhádh watched as the man crumpled to the floor, the life torn from him. The youngest Cousland peered at the large double doors that were the hall's main entrance. There, a white-haired woman in blue robes wielded a staff as she fired magical forces into his men. _A mage!_

He parried one ambitious Amaranthian, kicking him away before he stormed to the most dangerous opponent in the room. Two more soldiers tried to bar his path, but Garahel attacked from the side, his maw biting down on one's leg, while Ser Gilmore, seeing his lord's plan and able to rip through the fight, duelled the other. His path clear, Dái dashed forward. The woman froze another guardsman in ice before she noticed him. She jerked back as she aimed her staff at him. Another bolt of white energy fired at him with less than a yard between them.

Dáibhádh attempted to dodge but caught the blow against his left shoulder, his hand dropping his dagger though the pauldron warded off the worst of it. Gritting his teeth, he spun with the blow as his right arm swung out, the blade slicing through the woman's exposed throat. She dropped her staff and fell to her knees as she gasped for air.

Without the magical assistance and with the new reinforcements, the men of Highever overwhelmed the Arl's troops. "Secure the entrance and keep those bastards out as long as you can!" Gilmore ordered as he ran over to his lord, the Lady right behind him.

"Darling! Are you alright?" she asked as her hand gently wrapped around his healthy shoulder.

"It's nothing, Mother," Dái assured her as he looked down at the injury. "See? The armor is still intact." _Though I'm going to have a large bruise after this. _He retrieved his fallen dagger, new aches twitching as metal fingers wrapped around the weapon's hilt.

"Your ladyship, my lord! You're both alive," Gilmore declared with relief as he strode up to them, blood smattered all over his armor and face. "I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"Have you seen my father?" Dái asked, his fear taunting him.

The worry crossing Ser Gilmore's face did not reassure him. "He was looking for you two. He told us to hold the hall as long as possible." The knight threw a glance over his shoulder to the main entrance. "When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out long! If you another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

The youngest Cousland scowled. "I'm not letting Howe take Highever. Look," he waved his hand over the guardsmen. "We now have seventeen men, including yourself. If we can force Howe to come in through there, we can bottleneck his army, and destroy it piecemeal. All we need to do is find Father and any other survivors and bring them here. Any servants can be sent to the armoury to be armed. During the battle, the path through the keep was broken by fire and created new barriers. As of now, the only way to the armoury and to half the keep is through here. We can hold."

The Highever knight shook his head. "No, my lord, we can't. Even if Howe sent only half a company at a time, we'd still be overrun. I haven't fought any knights and Howe is sure to have more mages at his command. My lord," Gilmore finished, the words cutting himself deep as he said them. "Highever is lost and the Teyrn is badly wounded."

Dái's blood froze. _No, not Father too. _"What do you mean he's wounded? Where is he? Why isn't he here!?"

"He was here when Howe's men attacked and though I tried to shield him from them, one of the craven got through. I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen. I believe he thought to find you at the servants' exit in the larder," Gilmore explained miserably. The great, wooden doors shuddered as the Arl's men laid siege to it. Another two guards rushed toward them to help the others brace them. "All we can do is delay the inevitable, my lord. Please, you must escape while you can."

_How can I just abandon you and my men like this!? _Dái wanted to scream back. He looked to the kitchen, wondering if his Father was somewhere in there, slowly bleeding to death. His Mother's hands shook as she watched the exchange, unable to keep glancing towards where Bryce should be. Finally, she said as she tugged Dái toward the other side door, "Bless you, Ser Gilmore. Maker watch over you!"

"Maker watch over us all," Gilmore intoned as he watched them.

"I'll see to the Teyrn's safety, you are to hold until my return. I will send every available man to aid you. I will not surrender Highever," Dáibhádh commanded before he obeyed his Mother's unspoken wish and sped toward the kitchen.


	7. Ch 7: Father

**Ch.7: Father**

Through the main hall's north side door, Dáibhádh, Eleanor, and Garahel stood at a two-way intersection. To their left was the path to the kitchen, and in front of them the path angled downward into the lower ring of Highever and to the servants' quarters. Choice of destination was torn away from Dái when he saw another one of his guards warding off two more invaders at the bottom of the slope. The man's heavier armor protected him against the skirmishers, but they were battering down his defenses.

One of the mace-wielding invaders bashed the guard's shield down and prepared to deliver the final blow when he heard a loud bark off to his left. When he turned his head, he froze as he saw a mabari speeding down the stone path before leaping at him. The force of Garahel's pounce propelled the skirmisher against the stone path, a loud crack resounding as the man's head snapped against the floor. Whether he was dead or unconscious, he didn't move.

The other Amaranthian had only a brief, disorienting moment to consider the drastically changed situation before he realized another warrior was bearing down on him. Dáibhádh didn't give him the chance to recover before Arlan stabbed through his chest, piercing the leather armor like a quill through paper.

The newly rescued guard pulled himself to attention when he realized who saved him. "My lord! Is the Teyrn safe?"

_I wish I knew. _"I will handle that, I need you to-" Before he could finish, screams exploded off to where the path continued after a hard right as it rounded the castle, breaking through the arching din of chaos. His head jerked toward the source and discovered the sound coming from an open door where the second servants' room lay.

"They're even murdering the servants," Eleanor exclaimed as her horrified eyes peered down the path.

Dáibhádh's eyes shot toward the door behind the guard. "Are there-?"

"None of Howe's ilk, my lord. There are more servants hiding in there, who wouldn't let me in for fear of attack," the guardsman explained sourly.

"Then we aid the others! Mother, please convince those servants to leave and send them to Ser Gilmore!" the lordling commanded and requested as he and Garahel rushed down the second slope onto Highever's ground level. As they sped to the door, Dáibhádh noticed burning rubble created a barrier between the front gate and the northern half of Highever, much like the southern passageway. _The main hall is the only entrance then! I have my bottleneck! _Even as the news cheered him, dismay countered with a second realization. _Alaois' room is cut off! _Dáibhádh could only pray the Maker would watch over the elderly healer and that his father wasn't as wounded as Ser Gilmore feared.

The youngest Cousland finished his sprint to the door, while wishing he had more time to adapt to his new plate armor as he felt exhaustion nipping at his heels.

Unlike other nobles, the Couslands provided much more than the basic necessities for their servants. Mattresses and frames lined around the room with only the occasional cot for the newer servants, two board games sat on stools next to the room's central pillar during the carefree hours when servants were finished with their duties. As a boy, Dái remembered wandering into the room a few times, his curiosity driving him towards learning more about his home. The servants, while polite and cordial, had been amused by the little noble coming to visit.

The happy memory was now stained as two Amaranthaian scouts hacked away at another servant, while the last survivor tried to push himself into the corner. In four bounds, they were within reach of Arlan. So busy were they in their mindless killing, the pair only noticed Cousland when sharp blades cut into their sides. The one unfortunate enough to be Arlan's target, collapsed to the floor as the sword cut deep, while the other felt only a dagger bite into him. The second scout spun around only to have his leg pulled out from underneath of him as Garahel latched onto his shin and dragged the surprised scout away from the surviving servant. With one strike, Dáibhádh rended the life out of the remaining scout.

"My lord," the servant squeaked, still in shock between his near brush of death and the surprise rescue. "You saved me!"

"Quickly, we have little time, head to the main hall and see about being armed," the Teyrn's son ordered as he gestured toward the door.

"Armed, my lord?" the red-haired elf repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes, armed," Dáibhádh snapped back, his patience already short. "To save Highever, we need every man we can find. Come!" The lordling stomped out of the room, the servant meekly following behind.

At the corner halfway between the two levels of Highever, the Lady of Highever directed the other band of servants to the main hall. The one Dái saved and the other guard quickly joined them, while the two nobles and the mabari hurried into the kitchen. When they turned into the passageway leading to the kitchen, they found a duel taking place. Surrounded by dead Amaranthian soldiers, Ferelden's Warden-Commander fought against a man in plate armor, wielding a two-handed axe, in front of the kitchen's entrance. _He fights with us! _A nugget of cheer nestled in the lordling's heart which stood against the gloom of Gilmore's prediction. He and Garahel hurried down the path to where Duncan battled his opponent, while Lady Eleanor readied an arrow. Although their intentions were noble, they were unnecessary. Howe's knight swung his axe with ferocity, but he couldn't land a single blade on the nimble Rivaini. As Dái neared, he noticed the blood dripping off the knight where numerous cuts had slid in-between the armor. The knight noticed the approaching reinforcements and panicked, throwing his energy in one wild attack against the veteran Warden. Duncan slid underneath the blow and jabbed his sword into the knight's exposed throat. The bigger man dropped his weapon as he clutched at his neck.

Duncan paid the dying man no heed as he turned to his would-be rescuers. "My lord, my lady, I cannot tell you how much it gladdens me to see that you are both safe."

Eleanora didn't reply, her attention solely fixed on the kitchen door, being one of the last barriers between her and her beloved.

"I can say the same, Warden-Commander!" Dái replied eagerly, making up for his mother's lack of attention. "With you at our side, we stand a much better chance of holding. But first, my father, have you seen my father?"

The older man pointed a finger into the kitchen. "He is in the larder, waiting for you two to arrive. I arrived here with him and have kept Howe's men at bay."

Dáibhádh hesitated. "How is he?" He felt his spirit plummet as Duncan solemnly shook his head.

"I fear he is near death's door. It would be wise for you to hurry to him."

Eleanor's gasp prompted the three of them to dash past the Grey Warden. Seeing his servants being butchered hadn't hurt as much as seeing Oren dead, giving Cousland a thin hope that the next death wouldn't hurt as much, if Old Nan was dead.

It was a false hope.

Stepping into the kitchen and seeing his former nanny with her blood spent on the floor tore at him as savagely as the first one. Old Nan's features had been halfway between her usual stern glare and a horrified surprise when the axe had crashed through her chest. As he knelt down to close her eyes, he found he couldn't see the worn, harsh face anymore. In its place, he saw a younger face with a smile for him, whether it was telling him another heroic tale or playfully scolding for his latest mischief, from the days of his boyhood. The urge to save Nan's body from further desolation at Howe's men threatened to overwhelm him, were it not for a single hand landing on his shoulder. Above him, tears slid down his Mother's face even as she silently urged him away. He complied, sluggishly standing up before their little group marched into the larder.

"Father!" he called out as they stepped through the door.

A weak voice greeted them. "There, you both are."

"Bryce!" Eleanor screamed when she found him, running over to be by his side.

Dáibhádh's head snapped in that direction and he recoiled at the sight. The Lord of Highever was on the floor, supporting his torso off the cold stone with a trembling arm. Blood oozed from a life-threatening cut to his side, his other arm pressed against it as a feeble dam. His skin was already pale and shivering as death fought the Teyrn for his body.

"I-I was wondering when you'd get here," he muttered as he tried to push himself off the floor. His arm nearly gave out with the effort.

Eleanor dropped her bow as she rushed to her fallen husband, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around him, as though her embrace alone could ward off his injuries. "Maker's Blood, what's happening?! You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men," Bryce grunted, his arm tightening around his wound. "Found me first. Almost... did me in right there."

Dáibhádh was only a moment behind his mother, wincing at his Father's wound. Ser Gilmore warned him it was serious, and now, more than ever, Dái desperately wished Alaois was with them. There was a chance his father would live. _A chance, _the youngest Cousland told himself. "We need to get you out of here. The servant's passage is right here. I'll send for a guard to carry you and escort Mother out of Highever, while I take command of the defense. Duncan," the lordling turned a hopeful face on the Warden-Commander. "With your aid, victory is a distinct possibility. The fighting has wrecked the keep's outer passages, leaving the main hall as the only entrance into Highever. We'll concentrate our defenses there and bleed Howe dry." He then addressed the Lady of Highever. "Mother, while we hold here, you need to reach Fergus and tell him Highever is under siege. With Highever's army, he can deliver the final blow to Howe while we hold here."

There was a wry, proud smile on the Teyrn's face. "I'm sorry, pup, but I don't think I'll survive the standing."

"And while I appreciate the high value you place on my abilities, Lord Cousland," Duncan added, "It will not be enough to stop them from breaking through." A dull thud echoed throughout the keep as the soldiers of Amaranthine battered away at the main hall's thick entrance.

"We have over twenty-" Dáibhádh began.

"Against the entire army of Amaranthine, which will have more knights and mages at Howe's disposal," Duncan finished for him. "You're bravery does you credit, and you have a tactician's eye for warfare, but you do not have the resources to win this battle. If Howe attacks with his knights and mages at the same time, your guardsmen will crumble beneath the assault. This is a battle you are no longer destined to fight in."

The Warden-Commander's words tore at the faltering hope Dái held onto. As if that weren't enough, Bryce spoke, "Duncan is right, pup. A good commander knows when to fight and when to run. You must escape Highever." He gasped as the pain momentarily overwhelmed him. "Warn Fergus...Howe seeks to advance himself during the chaos...prove him wrong, pup."

Dáibhádh glanced between the two older warriors and finally surrendered to wisdom. "Then... then we need to find some horses and get father to the Chantry. Our stables will be in Howe's hands, but perhaps we can find one or two somewhere in the city, while the Chantry will have a healer. With father safely hidden at the Chantry, and with horses, I'll return with Fergus in two days, if not sooner."

"Ah, my boy," Bryce said ruefully as his blood continued to slide out of him. "If only will could make it so."

The youngest Cousland glanced at Duncan with trepidation. "Duncan, do you have any poultices on you?"

"I'm afraid not, my lord," Duncan answered with a grimace.

A crack echoed from the main hall. Eleanor gazed fearfully towards it. "Once Howe's men break through the gate, they will find us! We must go!"

"Let's go, Father," Dái said as he knelt down next to his parents, sheathing Arlan and his dagger. "Mother and I can carry you."

"Bryce, listen to our son," Eleanor passionately agreed. "The servants' passage is right here. We can flee together; we'll find you healing magic."

"The castle is surrounded," Bryce bitterly reminded them before he finally said the words Dái dreaded. "I cannot make it."

"I'm afraid the Teyrn is correct," Duncan reluctantly agreed. "Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult."

"Duncan," Eleanor muttered half-to-herself, acknowledging the man as she truly looked at him for the first time this eve. "Of all the Grey Wardens to be here, this night."

"Yes, your ladyship, fate certainly has a strange sense of humor," he replied with a weary smile. "The Teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."

Eleanor's eyes flashed to her son with some unknown emotion hidden behind the pride and love Dáibhádh usually saw. "My son helped me get here, Maker be praised."

Before Dái could decipher it, Duncan responded with a confident, "I am not surprised."

"Warden-Commander, I won't ask you to defend Highever, but will you help us?" Dái pleaded as he avoided looking at his stricken father, unwilling to give up on him.

Bryce groaned before he threw in his own plea. "Duncan... you are under no obligation to me, but I beg you... take my wife and son to safety!"

"I will, your Lordship," Duncan assured him swiftly before hesitation overtook him. "But... I fear I must ask for something in return."

"Anything!" Bryce shouted before he hissed with pain, his outburst hurting him.

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world," Duncan calmly explained. "I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

The Teyrn of Highever stared mutely at the Ferelden Warden before he relinquished. "I... I understand."

Dáibhádh could scarce believe his ears. Memories of his father's consistent belligerence toward any mention of him joining the Grey Wardens shouted from the back of his mind. The temporary shock allowed his mouth free reign, and, in keeping with its nature, it spoke the first, simplest thought it could find. "Are you talking about me?"

Duncan addressed the fair-haired nobleman. "Yes, I am. Were it not for the circumstances forced upon me, I would have chosen Ser Gilmore; however, with you here and with a Blight approaching, I think the Maker's intentions are clear... despite... certain reservations." Out of the corner of his eye, Dái noticed the fierce glare on Bryce's face aimed at the Grey Warden. Duncan shifted from son to father. "My lord, you have my word I will take your son and wife to Fergus and then onto Ostagar to inform the king what has happened. Then, your son joins the Grey Wardens."

"So long as they are safe and justice comes to Howe... I agree," the Teyrn replied, forcing out the last two words with effort.

His son felt another blow after hearing his father implicitly declare his own life lost. While he tried to avoid thinking of it, the younger Cousland couldn't stop himself from noting his father's paler skin and the amount of blood gone from him. _He doesn't have an hour left to him. _Dáibhádh smashed the thought with hurt rage, but the damage was done.

The Warden-Commander addressed Dáibhádh. "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

As a boy, Dáibhádh had dreamt what it would be like to join the Grey Wardens, to be personally offered a place with the auspicious band of heroes by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. He had envisioned it happening in the main hall, with Cousland and Highever banners standing tall and proud throughout the place; himself standing in front of the dais in full plate armor with a mighty two-handed claymore strapped to his back. His family watching him accept the invitation from the dais, his father seated on Highever's throne with the rest of the family surrounding him with happy smiles. Two ranks of knights lined the carpet path between the dais and the main exit, ready to salute and celebrate the momentous day.

This was nothing like he had once hoped it'd be.

Now here he was, Garahel sitting next to him, his father slowly dying on the floor at his feet with his mother's arms around him, the Warden-Commander standing over them, all of it in the middle of a larder still stained with blood from the earlier fight with the giant rats. Dáibhádh glanced at his parents then focused on Duncan with a hard expression. "It is my duty to take vengeance."

His rejection didn't surprise the venerable Warden. "We will inform the king, and he will punish Howe. I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedence even over vengeance."

Before Dái retaliated, Bryce's shaky voice broke in. "Our family," he gasped, "Always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go," he continued as he reached out with a blood-soaked hand, grabbing his son's shoulder. "For your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

_Duty. _A memory of happier times reinforced the Teyrn's words. Every squire, no matter how illustrious their lineage, swore a vow upon becoming a knight of Ferelden. Among the oaths of loyalty to king, lord, and country were oaths of chivalry. _"I swear on the name of Andraste, under the eyes of the Maker, as a knight of Ferelden and as a son of Highever, I will always perform my duties, no matter how arduous they may be, to the utmost of my abilities." _He could not imagine a more demanding or bitter duty than the one staring at him now. "I will, Father," Dái said in a broken voice. "For you."

Without another moment, Duncan proclaimed as he pushed himself to his feet, "We must leave quickly, then."

Moving sluggishly and watching his father's hand slip off of his shoulder, Dáibhádh stood. Garahel mournfully whimpered as he patted up to and licked the Teyrn's face one last time. Bryce fixed the mabari with a pained smile and said, "Watch over my pup, will you?"

Garahel barked his affirmation before sliding back to his master. The Lady of Highever hesitated. "Bryce, are you... sure?"

"Our son will not die of Howe's treachery," the Teyrn declared, his anger granting his voice a measure of strength. "He will live, and make his mark on the world."

The hesitation vanished and Eleanor gazed up at her son. "Darling, go with Duncan. You will have a better chance of escape without me."

"Eleanor," Bryce began.

His wife cut through the protest before it formed as she stared into his eyes. "Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

The youngest Cousland opened his mouth to argue, but the Lady of Highever turned her stern glare on him, extinguishing his words with the pure, unshakeable expression of her will. "My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond."

"I'm... so sorry it's come to this, my love..." Bryce muttered.

"We had a good life and did all we could. It's up to our children, now," she replied with a tight smile.

"My lady," Duncan interrupted as he handed over her bow.

She accepted it with a nod before reaching for something at her belt. Confirming Dái's earlier suspicion, it was a very large coin bag. The Grey Warden frowned at the noise it made but accepted it regardless. "For my son, and remember your promise, Duncan."

The Grey Warden paused before he returned the nod. "As always, my lady."

The brief exchange went unnoticed by the youngest man in the room. For a simple realization occurred to him: all of his efforts to save Highever failed. Most importantly, he was never going to see his parents again. He stared at them, his mind subconsciously memorizing the scene as it was to be the last time he'd see them alive. As Duncan gently steered the stunned lordling to the servant's passage, Dáibhádh finally found his voice. "I love you both, so much."

"Then... go pup. Warn your brother. And know that we love you both. You do us proud," Bryce said as he smiled one last time for his son.

The groan and crack of wood splintering alerted them what was happening at the main hall. Maintaining his calm manner, Duncan declared as he pulled Cousland to the entrance, "They've broken through the gates. We must go now."

The last thing Dái heard from his parents was, "Good-bye Darling."

...to be continued in The Rogue


End file.
